Board meetings.
Store visits.
Legal work.
Then fatigue became more difficult.
Food tasted metallic.
Pain medications made afternoons disappear.
People began visiting.
Some sincerely.
Some because endings make even shallow relationships temporarily sentimental.
Bram came once more.
He was angry about the trust.
I let him be angry.
“You’re giving the company away.”
“No.”
“To employees.”
“They built it too.”
“It’s family property.”
“It was never yours.”
His face hardened.
“I’m your nephew.”
“Yes.”
“That means nothing?”
“It means you are my nephew.”
He left without saying goodbye.
I was sad.
Not surprised.
Maeve came later that evening.
“Bram?”
“How did you know?”
“You look irritated.”
“Apparently my face is readable.”
“Very.”
She brought soup.
Not because I requested it.
Because Ellie insisted.
“Same recipe?”
“No. Better.”
